Downed
by OtisSpofford
Summary: Ron and Kim's aircraft loses it's engine with no place to put down. Rating may change in the future.


_Okay, so some definitions to help out those unfamiliar with the lingo of flying. You can probably skip this without losing the essence of the story._

_VFR: Visual Flight Rules. The rules governing aircraft operating in clear weather. Opposite of IFR, or Instrument Flight Rules, where the pilot must have a special rating to fly in low visibility weather conditions._

_Center: There are 21 Air Route Traffic Control Centers (ARTCC) or Center for short. They are responsible for controlling non-local traffic, i.e. traffic moving across several different areas of controlled airspace._

_Single/Multi engine land: Pilots must have separate training/ratings to fly aircraft with two or more engines and/or aircraft that can land on land or water._

_Checkride: The practical test to earn your pilots' license._

_Vector: This means a particular magnetic heading, either towards a point on land or towards another aircraft relative to the aircraft it is applied to._

_ATIS: Automatic Terminal Information Service_

_AWOS: Automatic Weather Observation System_

_ASOS: Automated Surface Observation System_

_All are automated weather systems with their own separate radio frequency that tell a pilot what the weather conditions at a certain airport are like._

"_Information": The report from the local airport's ATIS. It is updated hourly, and each hour is given a succeeding letter identifier based on the ICAO phonetic alphabet. (Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, etc.) Telling the local controller that you "have information Alpha" indicates you are aware of the local conditions._

_Transponder: Most aircraft are equipped with a device that broadcasts a unique radio signal to identify its position. To "ident", the pilot presses a button that momentarily emits an extremely strong signal so that ATC can lock on to it. Several codes have a specific meaning. 7700 is the code for an aircraft experiencing an emergency situation._

"_Squawk": To broadcast a particular transponder code._

_VOR: __**V**__ery high frequency __**O**__mni-__**R**__ange navigation. A radio beacon airplanes can follow, think of them as highways in the sky. The location of the transmitter sites are used as waypoints. They are slowly being replaced by GPS._

_Flaps: Extendable portions of an aircraft's wing that allow it to fly more slowly without stalling._

_Stall: Not like an engine stall. It is the airspeed where an aircraft's wings no longer have sufficient airflow to keep the aircraft airborne._

_ELT: Emergency Locator Transmitter: A beacon that transmits a steady signal on 121.5 MHz. It is activated by extreme acceleration/deceleration g-forces such as in an aircraft crash. The frequency is continuously monitored by ATC and search and rescue aircraft._

* * *

The Piper Malibu cruised effortlessly at 17,000 feet. With only he and Kim aboard, which was usually the case, it had more power in reserve than they could spare. It was a handy thing to have and Ron loved to fly it, so they used it whenever their job allowed.

Ron earned his pilot's license the summer after he graduated. He and Kim had once saved the life of Jason Ryan, who ran Middleton Airport. When he expressed an interest in earning his pilot's certificate, Jason enthusiastically took Ron under his wing. He now had over three hundred hours, a single-engine land and instrument ratings and had nearly completed his multi-engine rating. And although Kim liked to fly she had never shown any interest in learning to do it herself. When Ron finally pressed her into explaining why, she replied that it simply didn't look like much fun. Ron called a friend, arranged to borrow his Pitts S-2, and took Kim on an aerial roller coaster ride. She climbed from the cockpit breathless and wide-eyed, terminally infected with the aviation bug. She signed up for her first lesson on their way out of the terminal. That was only ten weeks ago and she was already less than 15 hours from her checkride.

Today it was a short (for the Malibu) hop from their home base in Middleton to Billings, Montana for a security consult. It was a welcome break from the more intense missions they were used to. Being a good day with "severe clear" they were VFR and Ron was letting Kim have the controls so she could get a few bonus hours in her logbook.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Oil pressure's dropped 5 psi in the last ten minutes."

He checked the gauge then scanned the panel.

"Temp's up a little bit too. We'll give it few more minutes, see if it comes back to normal."

It didn't. After five minutes, they lost another three psi and the temperature was up just a hair more.

"Well," Ron said, "We're in the middle of nowhere, best not to take chances. Closest field is Natrona County in Casper. Should be about 190. We'll head in and check it out." He keyed the push to talk switch on the yoke.

"Denver Center, Four Niner Seven Kilo Papa."

"Seven Kilo Papa, Denver Center."

"Yes, sir, we're getting some oil pressure indications up here we don't like, so we'd like to amend our flight plan to make a precautionary landing at Natrona County."

"Seven Kilo Papa, copy, we show you turning south now. Vector to Natrona is one niner seven."

"One niner seven, Seven Kilo Papa."

"Seven Kilo Papa, Contact Natrona Approach on one one eight point three and advise you have information Juliet"

"One one eight point three, WILCO, good day, sir."

Ron checked their course as he dialed in the new frequency on COM 1, and the Natrona ATIS on COM 2. He noted with satisfaction that Kim had adjusted to the vectors given by Center and had already brought up Natrona County on the Garmin GNS 530. After listening to the traffic information, he contacted the tower.

"Natrona Approach, Four Niner Seven Kilo Papa, with you at one seven thousand feet, with Juliet."

"Seven Kilo Papa, squawk two three five five and ident."

"Two three five five, Seven Kilo Papa."

He entered the new transponder code and pressed the ident button. A moment later, approach came back.

"Seven Kilo Papa, radar contact, four three miles northwest of Casper VOR. Descend and maintain one two thousand, expect one zero thousand in five minutes."

"Descend and maintain one two thousand, Seven Kilo Papa."

"And Center's informed us you're having some trouble."

"Roger that approach. We're monitoring, will keep you advised."

"You want the airplane?" Kim asked.

"You're doing just fine."

"Thanks."

A few minutes later, they were level at twelve thousand feet, though only about seven thousand feet above ground. The oil pressure was now nearly twenty psi below normal and the temperature was climbing slowly but steadily towards the red. Ron was scanning the terrain, seeing nothing but trees, and was starting to worry. Kim also was scanning.

"No place to put down," she said.

"No, there's not. But keep looking."

As if talking about it, even indirectly, was enough to make it happen, the engine suddenly made a loud grinding noise, vomited oil, covering the windscreen, rattled, banged, and quit.

"I've got it," Ron said, taking the controls and quickly trimming to best glide speed. With the aplomb of a 3,000-hour pilot instead of a 30 hour one, Kim transitioned straight to the radio.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday, Natrona Approach, Malibu Four Niner Seven Kilo Papa declaring an emergency. We are engine out, oil on windscreen, zero forward visibility, three five miles northwest Casper VOR heading one niner seven, one one thousand five hundred and descending, two aboard, squawking 7700."

"Four Niner Seven Kilo Papa, copy, we have radar contact with you, notifying emergency services."

"Thanks, Natrona. We haven't identified a suitable landing site yet, if you've got any suggestions we'd appreciate a vector."

"We're checking Seven Kilo Papa, stand by."

"Kim, head aft and grab a window on the left side, I'm gonna make a little 360 here, see what you can see."

"Eyes peeled." She squeezed out of the cockpit and Ron put the airplane in a gentle 20-degree bank. It would cost them altitude but he had little choice. About halfway through the turn, he heard Kim call out.

"No LZ yet, but I've got a river about three degrees off the left wing about ten o'clock. Might be too far to make though."

Given the choice between coming down in the trees or ditching in a river, the river was their better option. Ron noted their heading and completed the turn. It was eerily silent and there was simply no place to put down. Kim squeezed back into the cockpit and strapped into the right seat. Ron returned to the heading he was flying when Kim spotted the river, and brought it into view exactly 90 degrees off the nose, then made a 90-degree left bank to put it ahead of their nose. They were under 8,000 feet now, only 3,000 above the ground, which gave them about four minutes of glide time left. Kim keyed the radio.

"Natrona County, Seven Kilo Papa."

There was no response.

"Natrona County, Seven Kilo Papa."

"We're below their line of sight," Ron said, "Which means they've probably lost us on radar also."

"So that'll make the search box what?"

"Couple hundred square miles, depending on where they lost us. Maybe more."

He made another turn to find the river. It was too far.

"We're not gonna make the river. Gonna have to put down in the trees. So here we go. Get ready to give me flaps, call my airspeed every ten knots."

"Standing by on flaps. Ron."

"Yeah?"

"Every time we get in a fix, I'm the one who saves the day. But I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in the left seat right now than you. I'm very proud of you."

"That means the world to me, KP."

"I love you."

"I love you too, babe. Give me flaps ten."

"Flaps ten."

As he eased them through their last thousand feet, he alternated his view between the gauges and the rapidly growing trees in the side window. His plan was to get as slow as possible and ease them down on the treetops and keep from flipping or cartwheeling the airplane. He'd worry about the fall later. Realistically though, he knew he wouldn't _have_ to worry about the fall. The impact with the trees would tear them apart.

"160," Kim said. "150. 140."

"Flaps twenty."

"Flaps twenty. 130. 120. 110. Gear?"

"No, not yet."

"100. 95. 90."

"Gear down, but be ready to bring it back up."

With the gear down, he could get a few knots slower without stalling the airplane. The trouble was the gear would grab the treetops making it more likely they would flip, so he would have to time raising the gear just right, because the Malibu would stall the instant he did. He looked back out the window. They were only fifty or sixty feet above the trees now.

"Full flaps."

"Flaps full."

The airplane began to float along, almost daintily.

"80...75...70...65."

"Stand by gear up."

"Standing by. 60 knots."

"And... gear up."

"Gear up."

The tops of the taller trees were brushing the belly of the airplane. As the gear came up and the stall warning went off, Ron finessed the yoke. The airplane fully stalled just as it collided with the trees, slightly nose high. There was an enormous racket that lasted for about fourteen years (but was actually only five or ten seconds), then the Malibu came to a swaying halt, resting on the treetops.

"You did not just do that," Kim said.

"Wait."

"There is no _way_ you just did that."

"Hang on, it's not done."

There was the distinct cracking and popping of branches and the airplane began to nose up. There was suddenly a cannonade of branches breaking and the airplane slid tail first into the trees. It bounced and jerked, falling only slightly slower than a four thousand pound rock should, then suddenly they were in free fall. There was a jarring impact and then the nose slammed into the ground. For a few moments there was the soft sounds of a rain of twigs and leaves, then silence.

"Ron."

"Yeah?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"You just landed in a forest, blind, with no engine, and probably did little more than scratch the paint."

There was another long moment before he answered.

"Yeah."

Ron let out a brief chuckle that quickly escalated into both of them laughing heartily. They unstrapped, then hugged and kissed and laughed some more.

"Let's get out and check the damage."

They climbed out. It was quickly obvious they had done more than scratch the paint.

"We hit tail first a little."

Roughly ten feet forward of the tail the skin was split halfway up the fuselage and aft of the tear the tail was severely bent upwards.

"That's probably a good thing," Kim said. "That allowed our seat backs to absorb most of the impact. If we had hit level we could've sustained spinal injuries."

They walked around to the front of the plane and Ron opened the cowl. Oil covered every engine surface but other than that, there was no obvious indication of what had happened.

"Well, that's no help." Ron said.

"That engine's been no help for a good ten minutes now."

In the cockpit, Ron had detached himself from the situation, concentration on flying the airplane as he had been trained. Now, looking at the oil covered engine compartment, the enormity of what had just happened hit him like a ton of bricks.

Their chances of surviving at all had been slim to none. The odds of them "landing" as they had done were so long they would probably have to be expressed in scientific notation. His knees buckled and he collapsed. Kim was instantly beside him, holding him.

"It's okay, baby. You did great. You saved us."

"We should be dead."

"Yeah, we should, but we're not. You got us down safe and sound."

"That airplane should be scattered across a quarter mile. They're probably calling dentists to join the search team."

"They're gonna find us safe and sound." She took his face in her hands. "But you're going to be in a heap of trouble for trimming trees without a license."

The joke wasn't funny but they laughed anyway. They had to.

She helped him to his feet. "Come on, Stoppable. We've got work to do."

As always, Kim was prepared for anything. In the nose compartment was a well stocked survival kit that contained bottles of water, ration bars, rope, smoke flares, a battery operated strobe, survival blankets, Swiss army knife, glow sticks, flashlight, batteries, bright orange forestry tape, signaling mirror, water proof matches, flint, and a small tool kit. It also had an air powered pellet rifle capable of killing small game and a collapsible fishing reel and miniature tackle box.

"Kim, I'll never refer to that box as fifty pounds of useless weight again."

"Yeah, you're feeling me now, aren't you?"

"But you can't say I watch too much TV anymore."

"And what has _that_ got to do with this?"

"If it wasn't for my extensive use of the television I would never have stumbled across _Survivorman_ and would not now possess the mad survival skills that I do. And you said I never watched educational television."

"So what, now you're Peter Besenyei _and_ Les Stroud?"

Comparing him to his aviation hero, Red Bull air race Champion and three-time runner up Besenyei was about the highest compliment she could pay him.

"I don't think even _he_ could have intentionally done what I did by accident and luck.

She patted his cheek and kissed him gently on the lips. "Don't sell yourself short. Sure there was a lot of luck, but a lot of it was you too."

"Thanks, KP"

As Kim secured the gear in the cabin, which would serve as their shelter for the duration, Ron went to the cockpit to shut off the avionics and retrieve the handheld radio. He turned it on to be sure the batteries were good and tuned it to 121.5 MHz. Hearing only silence, he cursed.

"What's wrong?"

The ELT's not transmitting."

"What?"

"No ELT."

"They just checked it last month."

"Well, that doesn't help us now."

"Ron, we could be here a while."

"We sure could."

They paused a moment to let that sink in, then set to work.

* * *

_So, this one has been in the dustbin for a while. I originally wrote it as a sort of 3__rd__ person parody of a _Flying Magazine_ article called _I Learned About Flying From That._ It's been in the dustbin because quite frankly, I have no idea where to go with it. So how about some interactive fiction? I am readily accepting suggestions on what happens next. So send in 'em in and maybe together we can get this thing written._

_O.S._


End file.
